Soaking up the Sun
Posted on 22 July 2010 | 1 response
When I began this year, I was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted from all of 2009’s trials. Still, unbeknownst to me, there was so much farther to go.
I could recount it all, but you know the story. Thyroid, depression, exhaustion, pre-diabetic, hypoglycemic, new doctors, nutritionists, physical therapy, surgical recovery. The list, it goes on and on. By the time March rolled around, I was so fed up with the state of my body and my life that I’d had enough. Tiny changes I’d made over the years were suddenly insufficient and I was left with no choice but to begin the arduous climb out of a very deep valley.
By the time May arrived, we took a much needed vacation. Travels, hounds, sunshine, history, culture, the sea. After that I was photographing a family wedding and we were all dancing into the night. There was a brief period at the end of May when we were able to start tackling a larger house project and possibly begin mapping out the rest of our time in this place. By the time June arrived, there was such a flurry of activity going on that we scarcely stopped to think. Family reunions in Kentucky, cookouts, jumping into the pool, driving again, eating fresh sweet cherries, family visits up north, jumping into the waves of Lake Michigan. When I looked at the calendar today, I honestly couldn’t believe it was late July. How did that happen?
This time last year, just before turning 32, I had just received news that I would be undergoing “exploratory” surgery, then possibly further surgery after that. I was living in a state of limbo, my health feeling optimal one minute and untrustworthy the next. Rather than face my body’s issues head-on, I delved into the mental side of my anxieties, spending most of my summer inside hiding in the air conditioning. Though it would be a difficult year, my only regret afterward would be that I didn’t spend more time outside in the sunshine with my dogs. I realize now that I wasn’t prepared to soak up the sun. The clouds were so heavy in my head that even I didn’t realize how much I was hiding from myself, from life.
One year later and I find I’ve lost all track of time again. It’s late July and I honestly couldn’t tell you where I’ve been. Not because I’ve been in my head or because I’ve been battling my anxieties, but because I’ve simply been living. The anxieties, they come more rarely these days if at all. Surviving the things I’ve done this past year has fundamentally changed me. Confidence comes easily now and I feel it in everything I do. Feeling the sunshine is something I make an effort to do, taking my dogs with me at every opportunity. Pushing my body to better itself, to fight for itself, to be vigilant in taking care of itself, that’s become my new mission. It’s not my only mission, but its effects have spilled over into every aspect of my life. I feel better, I act better, I sleep better, I love better, I live better.
Sunshine is no longer something that only “healthy” girls get to enjoy. When I decided to push my body to its limits, it’s not as though I had a decision. I figured things could have gotten a whole lot better or a whole lot worse. Either way, they had to be different than the hell I was living in. My life has changed now, my viewpoint has changed, and truthfully I have changed. I’ve always been a summer girl, there’s no doubt about that. At the end of this past year though, I think what surprised me most is how easily I forgot it, how willing I was to just give up the sun’s rays because I had given up on myself.
Next week I will turn thirty-three. If you had told me a year ago that I would arrive at this point - traveling with confidence, diving into the water, walking every day, not sleeping until noon - I would have wanted to believe you. I would have wished I’d had the courage and health to be a different kind of girl. I’m glad though that you weren’t there a year ago, that you didn’t tell me. Foresight is always a tricky gift, one that might change your necessary path. My survival this year depended upon me to find courage, not to trust that it would be there. I read somewhere once that hard-won victories are the most satisfying. Whether or not that’s true, who’s to say? It makes sense to me. What I do know is that not knowing allowed me to know myself better than before. Does that make sense to you?
When I chose to start digging, then climbing, then pushing myself harder and harder, that’s when things changed. That’s when life went from being something “healthy” girls did to being mine for the choosing. I was there, but now I’m here. The sun’s rays truly never felt so good.
Like 100 Things, only better
Posted on 15 July 2010 | 1 response
Things I’ve done this past year:
– built half a bedroom
– and a closet
– enjoyed being married
– got a vagina
– learned how to use it
– crashed and burned
– picked myself back up
– got a new (to us) car
– met new friends
– met old ones again
– liked myself more
– grew up
– fought my thyroid
– gained weight
– visited Chicago
– cooked. a lot.
– celebrated 10 years together
Things I’ve done in the past two months:
– visited Savannah, Charleston and coastal Georgia
– driven through the WV mountains. Again.
– bought new smart phones complete with wi-fi and unlimited data
– become “those people”
– photographed a wedding
– went on vacation
– decided i want to move south
– ran along the seashore with my dogs
– swam in the Atlantic Ocean
– gotten stung by a jellyfish
– severely injured my ankle
– sucked it up, walked it off
– become the USA channel’s bitch
– bought a new bathing suit in 20 minutes
– attended a family reunion
– purged and donated nearly half our belongings
– lost six pounds
– gained it back
– lost it again
– entered every single thing I’ve eaten into a food diary for 2 months
– jogged on my old high school track for the first time in 15 years
– begun to demo the most hideous basement in the world
– got a tetanus shot as a result
– had another sedative-free blood test
– found my big girl pants
– sledgehammered a toilet
– ripped down a ceiling
– started weight training
– felt my awesome new biceps
– not picked up my camera for two weeks
– did an entire mile on the elliptical
– jumped into a pool and got my head underwater
– and then did it again. twice.
– eaten numerous salads
– started yoga again. regularly.
– pushed myself
– had sex. more than once.
– eaten fried green tomatoes
– tasted 20 year old bourbon
– slept better
– bought a short pretty skirt
– celebrated my 6 year veggieversary
– sang. a lot.
– celebrated 3 years of marriage
– gone commando a lot. it’s hot, people.
– cut my hair short
– taken our Xmas card photo already
– swam in the freshwater waves of Lake Michigan
– eaten fresh deliciously ripe Michigan cherries
– driven 10 hours without horrible hip pain
– carried myself with real true confidence
– carved our names into a Northern Michigan railing
– absorbed endless new music
– become a better photographer
– decided I want to spend summers Up North
– drastically changed my diet
– continued to stick with it
– climbed a 460 foot high sand dune
– didn’t stop when my lungs were burning
– exfoliated my feet in the sand
– sampled cherry butter
– made a lot of silly little videos
– laughed a lot
– discovered fun again
– decided I like being me
And scene.
In which I don’t apologize for not apologizing
Posted on 8 June 2010 | 1 response
Hi.
Pardon me if I seem to have dropped off the planet. Pardon me if it feels as though I haven’t been keeping up with you. In truth, I haven’t. It’s nothing personal. Whether you’re a dear friend or the Queen of England, rest assured I have not been keeping up with you at all. So often, I come here and apologize for not updating, not making sense, not explaining some idea or promised event, but not today. To delude myself into thinking I have more than five total occasional readers who give a damn about my words in this day and age of information overload… well, it’s just silly and so I don’t do it. What I have been doing, however, is living. Getting outside, feeling sunshine on my skin, reading more, breathing the air, trying to remember what Summer smells like, even the rain drops on my skin and the humidity that sticks in my hair. I haven’t pulled my camera out in weeks. (This is where most people would gasp, but I simply just shrug. Why carry the damn thing around your neck when you could be outside living the experience with all your senses instead of just the one?)
My dogs are getting older, as are we. The way I share information is changing, as are my priorities. Rather than writing in order to understand my life, I now seek to stand outside and feel life course through me instead. Maybe it’s Summer, maybe it will change, maybe it won’t. What I do know is there are other things I’d rather be doing than writing currently and that I am absolutely okay with that. I like the way my Husband’s arms feel, strong and tanned and all mine, when we sit outside and watch the sunset from our deck. I like watching my eight-year-old beagle perk up and run like the wind just because she’s happy and I remind myself to watch her graying face and relish every. single. moment. while she is still able to enjoy herself like this. I like watching Bogey run full force through a beautifully open dog park, all power and zest for life, and knowing that after he soon has a huge life-changing surgery on those powerful legs, no matter the results, I will always have the memories of him running just. like. this. I thank God every day for the fact that his mother, hugely pregnant and out of options, somehow found the doorstep of a foster family for a beagle rescue group that somehow found us.
I like knowing that even though I am the heaviest I’ve ever been, I’m still living life. Vacation did not wait for me to get thin, nor did my enjoyment of wearing short shorts and swimming in the sea. When the water and waves come over you, they transcend any notions you have about your physical body. The ocean could carry you away in a heartbeat, no matter your size, so why worry about your ass when the sea could care less? My Husband will love me regardless, as will my dogs, as will I. The body I have may not be the kindest body for my heart and health to handle, but it is mine and it is all I’ve got to experience this world of ours. Every effort is being made to make it better, but on the difficult days and the days when hard work does nothing, I mustn’t forget to enjoy living within it. The fingers that let me touch my Husband’s arms, the toes that let me feel wet sand and waves, the arms that let me embrace my dogs fully, the vocal chords that let me communicate and sing, the lips that my Husband loves to kiss. I am lucky to have them all, and I relish in the memories they have given me.
So you see, I have not felt like writing. Instead, I am out living, ignoring the world of information overload and seeking instead a world of sensory fulfillment. Leaving the world of too much and moving more and more towards the world of just right, perfect, and enough.
The Lists
Posted on 20 May 2010 | 2 responses
When I was five, I was in a car accident. It was late at night and after a fresh rain. My mother was driving and we were in an old 1950s truck that was being restored. No seat belts, no airbags, me laying down asleep in the seat. We were coming off one of the steepest hills in my hometown and were supposed to stop at a stop sign. The brakes failed and because the roads were slick, we went flying into a field instead. The truck rolled at least 3 or 4 times and I remember slowly waking up from the commotion. I was still groggy, but not for long. My entire body was then airborne and suddenly the truck was upside down again - my entire weight came down with a thud and landed directly on the right side of my neck. I remember that shock of pain. I was now AWAKE. When the truck finally stopped rolling, we were upside down, contorted and hanging. I remember it was suddenly quiet and my mother seemed not worried, but frustrated. She asked in an exasperated tone “Are you okay?” And I said “Yeah.” She then breathed a deep sigh and said, “Let me get my purse.” So she did, we opened the doors, crawled out into a field of high grass, and began to walk. I still remember the feeling of all that dew as we crawled up the bank toward the road, the feeling of the night air, how refreshing it felt to smell all that rain. As we walked, my mother started to ask me if I was hurt anywhere. I remember rubbing the right side of my neck and saying, “My neck hurts.” Her response was this: “Yeah. Mine too. That’ll go away.” I don’t remember much else about that night. I was five, walking down the road in my pajamas in the dark, and it was way past my bedtime.
Nearly fifteen years later, I would consistently rub my neck and begin sleeping on a correctional pillow for the pain. I was never taken to a doctor after the accident, but that never seemed odd to me either. I had neck pain - it just was. One day when I was about 20, I absent-mindedly mentioned something about how my neck had always hurt since “that car accident.” My father was blindsided. I didn’t realize it was a secret, but apparently it was. My mom’s entire family had known about it but had never told my dad. It wasn’t until nearly 20 years later that I learned the truth. My mother suspected her second husband of cheating. She was out following him and driving when she shouldn’t have been. This is why we were in a truck that had no brakes. It was nearly 2am and I now suspect she had been drinking. This second husband was the same man that used to eat glass and chicken bones in my face in order to scare me. This is also the same man that beat my mother within an inch of her life - several times. This is the man she nearly killed us to find. My father was never told because they had only been divorced for a year and she was always afraid he would take custody from her. If you know my father, you know he would never do such a thing (he hates confrontation), but my mother has always been insecure and often paranoid. This is why I never went to the doctor, this is why the cops were never called.
This entire week, I’ve gone back and forth between my primary care doctor and my chiropractor about whether or not there is arthritis in my neck. One x-ray says yes, the other x-ray says no. No matter what the answer, my neck still hurts. It always has. All my doctors agree that I am losing range of motion. I don’t know if things would have been different had I seen a doctor after the accident. Probably not. I could count on one hand the number of times I was taken to a doctor as a child. Not because I was resoundingly healthy, but because it just wasn’t a priority. My father didn’t take me because we were always broke and because he didn’t trust doctors. My mother wasn’t around enough to really take me for checkups. Every time I did go to the doctor, it was usually with some horrible stepmother. My fear of needles, my fear of medical procedures, they are all direct results of traumatic experiences with bad doctors and screaming stepmothers.
It’s silly, I know. Tracing every possible health issue in your life back to bad parenting, but I avoided it for a long time. The truth is, I don’t want to be the girl that blames everything on her parents. Once you go down that road, it’s a well that never gets filled. I’ve been there, I’ve done it. In my late teenage years and early twenties, I played the martyr in a big way. I used to talk of nothing but what I didn’t have and walk around like an open wound, desperate for attention. It’s half the reason I threw everything into theatre really. I wanted an emotional outlet for all that pain I didn’t know how to process. I wanted fame and attention. I didn’t care about my craft, I just wanted to be noticed. It’s half the reason I chose the horrible boyfriends I did. I wanted attention, not love. Often mistakingly, I thought they were the same thing.
Now, I am older. Life has tumbled and thrown me, caught me, and shifted me again. Over the past few years, my full time job has been my health. So many doctor’s appointments, so many times I’ve had to recount my childhood and dig deep to remember my medical history. Every time I’ve been surprised. Something that seemed normal to me would be linked to my childhood health. The minute I ask why I suddenly developed asthma, various doctors have given me the same answer in an obvious tone. “You were hospitalized with pneumonia at age six, your family smoked heavily around you. It was coming.” When I ask why my neck is getting worse, I am always greeted by the same question in a baffled tone: “No one ever took you to a doctor after your accident? You never had x-rays?” When I told a nurse once about the doctor that bruised my arm and held me down to draw my blood, she said simply, “Oh sweetheart. Your mother should have said something.” Even the surgery I had last year links to a traumatic experience from a bad doctor - the only one my mother could afford because my father wouldn’t take me.
There are so many things that can link back to my childhood. Sometimes it’s daunting, sometimes it hurts. Believe it or not, I don’t want it to be this way. It may seem like all I do is blame my parents and walk around like a victim. But if you knew me in real life, you’d know that’s most definitely not me. In recent years, I look to my past less like a masochist and more like an analyst. I no longer seek resolution as I gave up on that a long time ago. It’s even evolved past healing. Most of my wounds are healing slowly over time and with growth. Now when I look back, it’s more about filling in the holes. It’s as though I have two lists in my mind. They’ve evolved over time and I like the way they’re changing. One list seems to be from long ago - it’s the Didn’t Have list. I imagine I started creating it when I was about sixteen. It’s a list full of what I didn’t have, couldn’t get, or what I wish I’d been without. All those things that held me back or hurt me or scarred me in some way. All those things that supplied my martyr’s arsenal. In my early twenties, I think that list was at its longest. So much so that I couldn’t see past it. All I was was a giant hole of need, an endless well of injustice, desperately seeking someone to give me a massive apology for my life.
Over time though, I grew up. I found real unconditional love, I slowly began to pay attention not to my past but to my present, myself, my future. The second list was always there side-by-side with the first, but I just never put anything on it. It seemed too lofty of a goal and I didn’t want to be disappointed. When I was a child it might have been called the “When I’m an adult” list. In my teens, maybe it was the “What I Want” list. In my early twenties, it might have been the “Someday when I am better” list. Now I refer to it simply as the Create list. There have never been materialistic things on this list, no cars, no big houses, no amazing jobs. It is all about healing. (When you are damaged and trying to survive a childhood of emotional abuse, what car you drive as an adult no longer matters. You just want to be happy.) There was a time when I might have filled the Create list with things I thought the world would naturally give me at a certain point. It’s nice to imagine your mother will suddenly become sober and apologize to you after years of suffering. It’s nice to think some horrible stepmother will change and become a nice person and apologize for being mean to you. It’s nice to think your family will stop acting like you are an untrustworthy drama queen and start treating you like a real person with feelings. Yes, all of these ideas are very nice. In my poor damaged mind’s eye, I honestly thought all these things would happen. I really thought that someday maturity would magically change the hurtful people in my life and my pain would begin to heal as though a magic wand erased years of damage. I was young and I was hurting and I was hopeful.
Naturally, the world kept spinning and I kept growing older. By tackling hurt after hurt after hurt, I slowly began to realize that healing myself was my job and my job only. No one was going to magically change and no one was going to do it for me. For a long time, I struggled with this realization. Did it mean I would just have to live with pain the rest of my life? That I would just always be stunted by emotional baggage? That I would always have to walk around with this black armband of “painful childhood” tattooed on my arm? I knew I wanted to heal, but I didn’t know how to do it without causing myself more pain. Over the next few years though, I had a lot of lightbulb moments. The more happiness and room for happiness I created in my life, the easier it was to let go of those things that hurt me. It wasn’t about projecting happiness and hoping the pain would fall away. It wasn’t about forgetting or even forgiving really. It was about not expecting, or waiting, but instead creating. I had to come to terms with the things that were holding me back and then I had to be honest with myself. I could sit and hope the hurt would heal or people would change… or I could just say “fuck it” and move on and create my own damn happiness. If it meant walking away from people, yes that was going to suck. But my god, what was the alternative? Waiting on someone to notice my pain and say I’m sorry? I’d waited nearly 20 years for that with no results! Who was I kidding?
And so I did. The “adult list” became titled simply “Create” instead. With every pain and new shortcoming that seemed to pop up and surprise me, I would add it to the Didn’t Have list (in my mind of course, always just in my mind) but only briefly. My perspective had changed. The minute it was in my Didn’t Have category, I would begin formulating a new addition to the Create list. What can I create in my life to replace what was lost? What can I do Now in order to heal Then? My entire life shifted. I walked away from my previous “best friend” and instantly found happiness and friendship in places I didn’t expect. I distanced myself from my mother and found new talents I hadn’t had time to discover before. I opened myself to new opportunities and methods of thinking about myself as a person, and my marriage, only to find that I liked myself more as a result. Fears that had controlled me and stunted my growth were harnessed by new ways of coping and I grew. It was freeing. Giving myself permission to create happiness, to be happy no matter how much it disagreed with others, it was unbelievable freedom. It wasn’t just about rebellion or being independent or choosing to be myself - those were things I never had a problem with in life. It was about digging deep and choosing to create my own road, no matter the changes, no matter the opinions, no matter the consequences thrown at me. I got fed up with waiting, I pulled up the weeds and made my own path, I stopped listening to what I didn’t have. Happiness was no longer something that might happen to me when I got my shit together. I made happiness my choice. And by proxy, I also chose my Self.
It hasn’t been all empowerment and self-actualized rainbows. This past year, I’ve been through so much, but it hasn’t totally broken me like it once would have. I’m stronger. My childhood, yes, it’s still there. A new memory will suddenly creep up and surprise me from time to time, but I handle it differently. I don’t view it as an Abused Child life sentence. There may be a day where I allow myself to think about it and feel bad, but it doesn’t control me like it once would have. A bad memory of everyone making fun of you and not letting you try baking? Add it to the create list. Flip through your 75 cookbooks, knowing you will make something amazing for dinner tonight because you taught yourself how to cook regardless. A sudden realization that no one read to you as a child and that there are about 100 childrens’ books you’ve never seen? Start reading them on your own. So what if you’re 32? Libraries don’t care. Sitting in a doctor’s office and terrified that someone is going to hurt you or that you’ll be defenseless? Speak up. You are not a child anymore, you can choose your own doctor, and if you don’t get what you need, your parents are no longer keeping you here. You have full prerogative to walk out the door and find someone else. Someone walking all over you and treating you like shit? Let them know or walk away. Life is too damn short to feel trapped by people who don’t care.
When I visualize the two lists in my mind’s eye now, I notice something that makes me smile. The Didn’t Have list is getting shorter, even fading a bit in color. The Create list is longer, vivid, yet manageable. It’s almost become a list of Life’s Electives and it’s quite nice. There are so many more lessons I’m sure I will learn in this journey. I’m positive there will be more moments of pain, confusion, and general resignation. Recovering from the childhood I had may be possible, but it’s certainly never been easy. But I believe in myself, I trust my own power. I trust myself, I trust my decisions and most importantly, I trust myself to recover when I don’t choose wisely. There are more health issues that will probably throw me and be somehow tied to my genetics or childhood. Once, this might have made me feel trapped, it might have made me feel as though I would never escape the cards I was dealt. I know better now. The cards you are dealt are just that - dealt. After that, you choose how you play them. Life is a choice, loving yourself is a choice, happiness is also a choice. Knowing that I discovered this before it was too late is definitely empowering. What makes me even happier is knowing that I chose wisely.
Home… such as it is
Posted on 14 May 2010 | 3 responses
We’re back. I can’t exactly say we’re home because well, this trip made us realize that Cincinnati really doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s been that way for a while now, but it wasn’t until we were gone for 10 days that we realized driving back into this place just makes us feel stifled and sad.
I don’t know what we’re looking for, but I do know this - we need to live next to water. I also learned another very important lesson: Cincinnati/NKY sucks for asthmatics. For an entire week, I didn’t even think about asthma medications or shortness of breath or nasal sprays. No cars constantly covered in pollen, no heaviness in my lungs after being outside for 10 minutes. But the minute we drove back into the Appalachian mountains and/or Ohio valley? Reaching for my inhaler, gagging and coughing consistently throughout the night. It was a wake up call, most definitely. But more about all that later. In the meantime, enjoy some cell phone pics. I’m still going through all the 3,000 photos I took. Yes, three thousand.
Still, we had lots of fun.
And the hounds did too.
V is for Vacation
Posted on 27 April 2010 | 1 response
We’re a little busy this week. It’s vacation preparation mode all around. In lieu of a real blog entry, you get this little webcam update instead. (Please pardon the poor sound quality. Apparently I thought I was louder.)
Did I mention I’m going on vacation? Because I’m going on vacation.
How many times can I say vacation? Let’s count! from ornerypuss on Vimeo.
Oooh, that rackin’ frackin…
Posted on 21 April 2010 | 1 response
In less than two weeks, if the gods don’t smite us and if nothing else goes wrong, we will be taking a much needed vacation to the beach. The reason I say this is that well, pretty much everything lately has gone wrong.
For the past month (at least) I’ve been without a car. Frustrating doesn’t quite describe it. Jeff’s truck had been on its most sketchy behavior since January and finally just died on us a month ago. We literally had to work on it in an Autozone parking lot for three days and then unsuccessfully tried to tow it home. Me (daughter of a mechanic), my dad (the mechanic), and my Husband (the engineer) are all absolutely stumped. We were all ready to dump the damn thing and start car shopping again (because two car payments = teh awesome!) when suddenly we started to get a bad feeling from the lending agencies. It seems they are hell-bound on screwing us, regardless of how hard we have worked to improve our credit. So, as of right now, I have a list of errands a mile long and no foreseeable way to accomplish any of them. You might be wondering why I don’t just take Jeff to work and use the car. He works an hour away. Yes, he commutes a full hour (twice) every day. So, by the time I drive him there, drive back, do my errands, drive to pick him up, and drive home, our nice new car will be completely spent. It’s just not worth it.
Adding to the annoyance factor, my camera is broken. Right before our vacation. And right before I photograph my cousin’s wedding. It works, it just takes some pretty crappy photographs. We went through all the nail-biting of sending it off to have the sensor cleaned, only to have it returned to me today with no improvement whatsoever. Looks like there are hot pixels that need to be repaired which = shitload of money and time = inconvenience from hell. It’s honestly looking like I’ll have to buy a new camera. And long before I was planning to.
These two things alone are enough to make us crazy, but there are about a million little annoyances lately that are adding up to giant headaches. We’ve lost our regular petsitter (she seems to have literally disappeared off the face of the earth) and so now we have to start interviewing petsitting services less than two weeks before vacation. Oh swell! (For the cats. The dogs are going with us though, so at least we don’t have to worry so much about them. Yet.) Jeff had to have a splinter removed last week at the dermatologist and we kept complaining about what a horrible job this lady did. It was almost laughable. So when we got the bill today, we nearly died. One hundred and fifty dollars to gouge the crap out of someone’s hand and declare them “splinter free.” This was after insurance. She initially wanted to charge us over three hundred bucks. OMFG. Seriously? For a splinter? You people can get in line and kiss my ass.
Oh, and want to know what really sucks? I’ve been working my ass off, doing hardcore cardio or weight training every single day for the past three weeks. And guess what? I HAVEN’T LOST A SINGLE POUND. I have more energy, I feel generally better, so I know that it’s working. Still, I started this whole damn push so that I could lose weight and NOT be in borderline diabetic range. But nope. Not a single damn pound. 20 grams of fiber a day, no sweets whatsoever, 1400 calories or less, busting my ass with cardio, and not a single pound. WHAT. THE. FUCK. You know, I should probably talk to my doctor about that…. but um, I don’t have a car.
*fumes*
Protected: Let’s get… technical?
Posted on 15 April 2010 | Enter your password to view comments
The part where we start to burn workout CDs…
Posted on 10 April 2010 | 1 response
Life has been busy lately. Not in an especially chaotic way, but more in a daily life kind of way. It seems as though the first three months of 2010 were unbearably slow and difficult, both mentally and physically. Then around the end of March, the weather shifted a bit, and so something shifted inside me as well. I can’t say exactly what happened. I either started to feel slightly better or I just got sick of waiting to get sicker. Possibly a combination of both. Either way, it became painfully obvious to me that things had to change.
I mentioned I started seeing a new primary care doctor. Well, my new doctor was also once a dietitian, so I came away with an entirely new diet plan that did not consist of counting out pistachios. Instead, she gave me a few basic guidelines to follow and then some basic tips for increasing my activity level until my thyroid stabilizes again. So it all just started slowly I guess. Count calories here, add fiber there, sprinkle generously with cardio, lather, rinse, repeat.
I don’t remember exactly when I forced myself to get on the elliptical again. Maybe two or three weeks ago. But what I do know is that I’m getting better. At first I was lucky to stay moving for 10 minutes, then it was 15, then it was 30. I’m certainly building muscle and mostly because I’ve gradually increased free weights and more strength training into my workouts. I haven’t really lost any weight yet (my thyroid, she’s a right bastard) but I’m trying. I’m trying so hard and yet also trying to pace myself and push myself all at once. I’ve done some sort of serious exercise nearly every day for the past two weeks. For the first time in my life, I’m using workout DVDs and making a solid effort to push my body rather than give up when it gets too exhausting. (And believe me, with Hashimoto’s disease, it gets damn exhausting.) My food choices are already better. I had a bite of a chocolate chip cookie today and instantly regretted it. Somehow it just didn’t taste good to me anymore and I realized I was craving fresh fruit and water instead. I make a real effort to go to bed earlier, get up earlier, have a real breakfast with protein and nutrients and kick start my metabolism.
Discovering that I was hypoglycemic wasn’t really a surprise to me, as I feel like I’ve been “constantly hungry” my entire life. What was a surprise to me was learning just how ingrained my eating patterns and childhood behaviors had become. I come from a family that eats junk food constantly, deep fries everything, and eats three giant carb-heavy meals a day with no snacking in between. Even though I haven’t lived at home in nearly 12 years, I realized those patterns of thinking and eating were still very much alive in me. I’m not a big junk food person, nor am I a deep frying fanatic. But what I am is a serious carb addict with a penchant for starving myself constantly. Not starving in an unhealthy way, but more out of a constant fear of “spoiling your dinner.” It took hypoglycemia and a new doctor to make me realize that going six hours without eating was simply not a healthy way to live. Yet my father, my aunt, my grandmother all do it constantly. Hell, it was only this year that I discovered a salad wasn’t always just lettuce floating in a giant pool of fatty ranch dressing.
So I’m trying. I make little salads for myself that consist of only things I like (covered not in ranch, but just a smidge of olive oil). I reduce my portions, I have yogurt, cereal, or fruit for dessert. I throw silken tofu into my smoothies and refrigerate them for when I want a little protein snack later in the day. I’m riding my bike again for the first time in two years. We’re planning a little getaway in May and I’m already trying to think of ways to work out even while we’re relaxing at the beach. There’s a shift in there somewhere. This isn’t just a diet or a temporary month-long quest to fit into some pants. I’m not trying to lose a certain number of pounds or just drinking a ton of water and expecting a difference. I’m changing the way I look at health in general, my relationship with food. It was never an unhealthy relationship, it was mostly just a lack of knowledge.
So here I am, and I’m trying. So very hard. And that’s all I can do. But hey, the effort I’m putting into it now? That’s a damn fine accomplishment if I do say so myself.
*fist pump!*
Posted on 26 March 2010 | 3 responses
So, some things.
You may remember my loving ode to Bella Nera. Well, I’m not sure if I ever properly updated or not, but we did finally get a new (to us) car in December. Meet Svetlana.
She is the first foreign car for both of us (oh, how my union member father cringes) but good god man, this little baby is damn near perfect for us. And that gas-saving zippy 4 cyl engine? Possibly my most favorite thing. Also, more room for Big Head Bogey!
We are already planning a vacation/road trip in it and I have to say I am very very ready. (Yes, we took it to Chicago for NYE, but that’s like 5 hours and one overnight so it doesn’t count.) Our next vacation will be 12 hours away and on the ocean and there will be no family around and it will be just us and OMG how I need this. Because my fuse? SHORT. I’m stressed, I’m already fed up with lots of things and it’s not even really Spring yet. Screw waiting another month. Fetch the suitcases, Jeeves. I’m packing now.
Moving on. Remember the bedroom remodel? Remember how it looked like this and didn’t have a door? (Privacy? Pshaw. Who needs it! Certainly not Monkey Family with their mad chopped-off ghetto door skillz and school bus yellow paint, yo.)
Then remember how I had painful surgery in November and got fed up with being bedridden and so deemed it Sledgehammer Time?
Well, we’ve done a lot since then. Like discovering this snazzy little nook that was hidden behind the old plaster.
And deeming it built-in bookshelf worthy.
But then we got even more fancy and decided to utilize our first ever pocket door. Ooooooh.
So now, it looks like this.
It’s still awaiting lots more steps, like compound, sanding, corner bead, sanding, priming, sanding, and paint. Oh, and then there will probably be more sanding. But hey, we have a door and it like, closes and stuff. Dood! Adults only naked dance party tonight! Or not.
I’m also trying to get healthy, come hell or high water. (Though with all the rain we’re having, high water is only about ten feet away.) I’ve decided this will be the year I tell my thyroid to wake the hell up or kiss my ass altogether. I’ve been patient and kind and nurturing with my body, but I’m tired of all these ups and downs. I don’t want to sit and rot and waste any more years feeling like crap. It helps that I also have a new primary care doctor (!!) - and that so far, I really really love her and she really really gives a damn. Bonus? She used to be a dietitian. M-O-O-N, that spells Jackpot, kids!
I’m on the elliptical every day. Even if it’s just fifteen minutes, it’s something. You should have Jeff tell you the cutest story about how I felt like such crap that I MADE my exhausted ass get on the elliptical for the first time in months and how he watched me cry because my body was so tired that any movement just physically hurt, but that I didn’t stop dammit, and kept going and kept crying the whole time. (Maybe you had to be there.) Sure, it felt like real shit. But I did it and I’ve done it nearly every day since. So there, thyroid. Kiss off.
I’m not there yet. But I’m trying. I’m trying every day and I’m trying DAMN hard. Stop sassing me, 2010. You are going to be my bitch.
